To Win the 78th Hunger Games
by WordsSimplySaid
Summary: Imagine if the 74th Hunger Games had gone differently. What if Katniss and Peeta weren't the victors, or the star-crossed lovers? What if Prim was left without a sister, or Gale was left without a best friend? Follow Prim's POV, as we let the 78th Hunger Games begin!
1. Chapter 1

_Katniss_. _Katniss_. _Katniss!_

 _The wolves chased her through the tangle of trees, pushing her out into the clearing. The mutts snipped at her heels, as their teeth dripped with saliva, their eyes yearning for gore._

 _"Come on, Katniss. You're almost there," I muttered at the television in our shack of a home in the Seam. I had balled my fists against the threadbare carpet, screwing my eyes nearly closed, in the fear that this would be her end._

 _Out of the shadows, Cato appeared in a full body armor._ He's coming _, I remember shouting at the screen, as if my voice could travel the thousands of miles to Katniss' ears._

 _Just over her left shoulder, a long-bladed knife whizzed past her ear. Katniss was caught off guard, having been nearly deaf on that side. I remember how proud I'd been when she destroyed the Career's food supply. She ran and ran and ran. The Cornucopia shone in the moonlight, as she tore up the field surrounding its perimeter._

 _A second knife whirled past, skimming her ear. She took the attack in stride, and notched an arrow into the bow, raising it in the rising dark of the night, and aiming it in the general direction of Cato._

 _But. A mutation jumped in front of its pack, fangs outstretched, claws extended, and landed firmly on top of Katniss' chest._

 _"Peeta? Peeta!" I remember shrieking along with her, as tears streamed down my face. Its claws streaked down her front, silencing her cries._

 _And in came Peeta, jumping into the scene with a small club in his hands. His face was contorted with anger and anguish and fear, whacking away at the mutt, and peering over his shoulder at its oncoming pack. On one hand, there was the mutt, battered and bruised, rolling off of Katniss, and rearing back to pounce on Peeta._

 _And then there was Peeta, staring death in the eye and holding the club up to swing. He swung as hard as he could, but not before a mace slammed into his back, making him kneel with pain._

 _And the trumpets sung._

I bolt upright in my sleep, shaking the nightmare from my skin. Goosebumps covered my skin, as I ran my hands up and down my arms. The nightmare was still as vivid as ever, reappearing to me as if it had only happened the night before.

The 74th Hunger Games.

The Game I lost my sister.

And so, I swing my legs up and over my patched-up mattress, and try to forget. Try to _remember_. What had life been like before Katniss died?

Life in the present is hard, that's what I know. Meeting up with Hazelle in her kitchen, trying to scrounge a portion of her profit, cleaning clothes. Rubbing my hands raw with scrubbing clothes against the washboard. Scouring the dumps and streets of the nicer parts of the district for some food. Getting abused by shopkeepers and Peacekeepers alike. Finding Gale in the markets, and finally allowing myself another person to share my grief with.

"It's so hard," I tell him that morning, as I lean against Greasy Sae's booth in the marketplace. I slop down the soup, grateful for Greasy Sae's pity. She always gives me free soups, even when I'm aware that business is running slow these days. We all grieve Katniss' death in various ways, and while Greasy Sae grieves the loss of a valuable bargainer, I grieve the loss of a sister. Just as Gale grieves the loss of a hunting partner, or a best mate.

Gale fixes me with a painful stare, as though the sight of me could possibly remind me of Katniss. It was so different from the pitying glances thrown at me during the first few months after the Games, but it could not have been more misplaced. I have frizzy, blond hair that must be attacked with a comb, in order to be put into a braid, while Katniss had long, brown hair, easily worn in a straight braid down her back. I have clear blue eyes, from my mother, while Katniss had grey ones, from my father.

"It'll get better," Gale mutters into his bowl of soup, turning his stare away from me, as if he was looking for something that wasn't found. He stares into the contents of his soup, and suddenly jarred, he pushes away from the booth and from my side.

"Gale?" I thank Greasy Sae for the mysterious soup, then tag along after him, through the scatter of people in the town square, who were preparing to start setting up trade in the market. I follow him through the square, into the Seam, then through the worn, torn fence into the woods.

I spot the old bow and arrow that Katniss used to own, when she went hunting with Gale. I retrieve it from the log it was hastily stashed in, from the time I last used it. I'm not fond of hunting, and I wouldn't be of much use with one, but it gives me a way to pass time these days. And, even though Gale would never admit it, I know he's trying to train me up, in the unlikely case that I'll get chosen for the Games again.

I lower the bow to my side, and sling the arrows over my shoulder, traipsing through the forest with tentative steps. I try my best to keep up with Gale's path, bleary from the hot sun bearing down on me. It is a clear Sunday morning, when the mines close, and the forest becomes threatened by the hunting specialties of Gale Hawthorne.

I've just begun to bask in the warm air, when I hear a thud just off my path, followed by a groan of protest. Emerging from the shade of the trees, Rory wears a small smirk with a bow an arrow strapped to his side, hunched over so that I'm almost the same height as him.

"Prim," he whispers, straightening up into his full height. As I set off at a dwindling pace, he walks alongside me, eyes searching the horizon, and a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun's rays. "Prim," he whispers, stretching my name thin, into some form of whine. I snap my eyes to his, and see the amusement playing on his face.

"What is it?" I venture, preparing myself for his latest whim or bit of mischief. His face contorts into a full, beaming smile, egging me into one of my own. His youthful joy is unmistakable, displayed like a candle that won't stop burning in the dark, bland life that is District 12. It often startles me, how different Gale and Rory are. Rory is whimsical and manic, often too naive for the likes of District 12. He'd pick a fight with half the people in the district, making him just the wrong side of rebellious. Gale, on the other hand, is dark and serious, weighed down by the responsibility of providing for his family.

Rory holds two coins in the palm of his hand, letting them gleam in the afternoon sun. "I won some money. Thor and his buddies felt like gambling today." My smile fades away. I study his gleeful face for a moment, wondering if I should believe him. It wasn't unlike Rory to be reckless, but I would've thought that he'd be more careful, especially with the Reaping being so close...

"Are you _crazy_?" I ask him. "You could've lost half your belongings to them. And they aren't good company." Rory has been rolling his eyes throughout my entire lecture, fixing his eyes wherever I'm not. "And I _can't_ believe that you'd be so careless. If the Peacekeepers catch you-"

"-and they haven't-"

"-you could be arrested-"

"-or even killed."

"-so why don't you care?" I finish, my face flushing from the effort of persuading him. His manic grin still hasn't faded, but I can see the disappointment in his eyes. He wanted me to be proud of his earnings. He wanted me to give him a pat on the back, and to tell him that he's my saving grace.

The words spill out of my mouth before I could even stop them. "You might as well be gambling your life to the Games."

His smile disappears instantaneously, as the Games are enough to sober anyone up fast. "How many slips did you put in?"

The fact was, I actually depend on the tesserae to feed me and my mother at this time of year. Ever since Katniss died four years ago, my mother has walked out on me, emotionally. She doesn't get up to work, and her health has deteriorated vastly in the past few years. She relies on me to be strong for our family, and to be strong through her sickness.

And, yes, she has always told me to never appeal for more tesserae or slips in the Reaping, because I know that-even though she'll never speak a word about it- she can't afford to lose her husband, _and_ her two daughters. _I'm all she has._ I know how hard this year must be for her, especially since I'm the same age that Katniss was, when she got sent into the Games. 

_Or when she volunteered for me._

So, this year I had to make a choice. Protect my mother's conscience, or keep us afloat in life?

"Forty-two. How 'bout you?" It's funny, how I ended up putting forty-two slips in, seeing as though both my mother and Gale would kill me for it. I guess I'd never much cared for their pity.

The slightest tremor passes through Rory's voice, as he replies, "Twenty-four. Prim, that's _insane_."

I open my mouth to retort, when Gale slides into view. "Gale," I whisper, as Rory and I march to his side. I raise my bow and notch an arrow, aiming it in the direction that he was looking at, Rory doing the same. "Wait," Gale whispers, pointing out a deer that has stopped to stay in the shade of some trees. It must've felt the heat, too. The deer canters around in the shade of the tree, unsuspecting to the three hunters hoping to make a profit off of its skin. Heart pounding, I try to keep my aim steady, as I attempt to stop imagining the blood that will flow out of the deer, out of its fatal wound.

Breathing shallowly, I start to pull the arrow back, only to hear the cries with each inhale.

 _Peeta? Peeta!_

 _A mutt slammed her down to the ground, extending its bloody claws to attack._

 _To kill._

Idrop the bow and arrow, startling myself, just as Rory lets the arrow fly straight into the deer.

"What the-"

"Prim, what's wro-" Shaking, I set off into the dense woods, back through the entangling roots and vines picking at my feet, back through the broken fence, and back into the broken district. I run away from the concerned voices of Gale and Rory, their voices growing fainter with each step I take. Away from their stares. Away from their pity. Away from the death.

Straight into a Peacekeeper.


	2. Chapter 2

It's old Cray. It's fine.

"What do you think you're doing out here, young lady?"

And normally, this would be considered a relief, to be found by the weakest chain in a line of Head Peacekeepers, but Cray has a _reputation_. It is a particularly nasty one, and I'd hate to think about what I'd had to do, if I didn't have Hazelle or Gale's hospitality.

So, when I stare up at him, my voice dies a bit on the inside. "Um...well, sir, you see...I..." I stumble over all my excuses, cringing at my inability to defend myself against _him_. "I-"

"-just bring me back something next time, eh?" He whispers conspiratorially, leaning in as though what we do in the woods is a grave secret. Which, legally speaking, it is, but Cray and his Peacekeepers have gone so blind from the law, they are our biggest customers.

"Sure will, sir." He gives me a curt nod, then continues to patrol the district, a beer bottle in hand.

I let out a huge breath that I didn't realize I'd been holding, then set off towards my house. The Meadow dances in the corner of my eye, wildflowers growing steadfastly, thriving in the beaming sun. I used to wonder how the Meadow could stay so undeterred from the poverty of District 12. How the flowers could grow oh-so-tall in the spring, summer and fall, while the citizens were often locked in their homes, with no food to eat at all. How something so wild and uncontrolled could escape from starving to death, or grieving from death, or crying _for_ the dead.

It'd be nice to be a flower this time of year.

I pass by dozens of people, all wandering about, getting ready for the night before the Reaping. It's usually a night full of prayers or, if they don't believe in religion, simply-held hands and worried glances. The shutters will all be drawn firmly shut, not a peep heard in each household. It'd be one of those nights, when the silence could be noted throughout Panem.

I push open the cracked wood door to my house, edging it slowly forward, so as to avoid the ear-splitting shriek emitted by the rusty hinges. _Cre-creek,_ the hinges sing, as I freeze in the doorway. The sound resonates throughout the small concrete house, eerily loud in the thick interior silence. "Hello?" I croak, tiptoeing over to where my mother was fast asleep on one of the beds.

 _It was one of these days,_ I think grimly, as I throw open the shutters. Sunlight flits into the room, accenting the shadows in the corners, and the grime on the table top. I sit down on my mother's bed, studying her intently. The past four years were no easier on her than it was for me. Wrinkles appeared around her lips, creases lined her forehead. She has a tremor in her voice that shows how frail she has become, and she is almost always tired. I'd assume that she never got over losing dad-or Katniss, for that matter.

I push a lock of golden hair out of her face, just as she reveals her light blue eyes, the only part of her that remains strong in her constant battle. She blinks sleepily at me, before proceeding to yawn. "Mom?" I ask, eyes wide as I hope that today will be a good day.

"Prim," she sighs, beckoning me closer. I crawl into bed with her, just as I used to do in the early days. She wraps her arms around me and closes her eyes, as I rest my head on her shoulder. She breathes, "I love you, Prim," before drifting off into another heavy sleep.

In that moment, I'd felt like I could stay within the confines of her arms forever, just a little girl with her protective mom. I stare up at the cracks webbing across the ceiling, when a knock sounds at the door, revealing Gale, as he steps through the door frame.

"I'm okay," I blurt out, keeping my voice a soft hush in the silence of the room. I untangle myself from the shelter of my mother's embrace, taking tentative steps towards Gale. "I'm okay."

Gale fixes me with an uneasy glance, before gesturing out the door with the slightest nod of his head. I step outside of my house, my fear accentuated by the squeal of the door's hinges as he shut the door behind him. We set off at a comfortable pace, strolling the streets of the Seam. I keep my pace steady, always faster than his, as though to tell him that I don't want to talk about my escape from the woods. His stride quickens, in the attempt to match my quick steps.

He's a full head taller than me, and he peers down at me, giving me sidelong grimaces and glares. He carries a game bag over his shoulders, presumably holding the deer that Rory shot. "Prim, I'm not forcing you out into the woods. You don't have to follow me out there if you don't want to."

"But, Gale, it's what _Katniss_ would've wanted me to learn. It's what she _did_."

He shifts the game bag around, from one shoulder to the other, as he contemplates what I said. "I don't think Katniss would have wanted to see you scared out of your mind-"

"-but I need to be ready in case I get chosen again." Gale goes silent for a minute, staring off into the end of the street, where Hazelle is bustling down towards us.

"Oh, Gale, you're here. And, Prim, yes, you too. Please hurry. It's Vick." With that, she runs off towards the Hawthorne house, at a speed that says she can't leave his side for even a second. We rush after her, Gale with a hard look on his face, and me with a queasy feeling in my stomach.

As we enter his house, I immediately recognize the loud coughs ricocheting off the concrete walls. Lying in one of the beds is Vick, a cold cloth over his forehead, and patched blankets covering his stomach and legs. His skin has a very sick pallor, and he seems to be in a very fitful sleep.

"Has he been resting?" I ask Hazelle, studying Vick's flushed face and the sweaty glean on his forehead. Hazelle glances sidelong at her ill son, while she frantically whips up some greens into soup. "Yes, it's all he ever does," she remarks sadly, as though foreseeing the demise of her son. It's not uncommon for people in the Seam to die from a common flu, because healers are scarce around the slums of the poor. Some people don't even have the money to afford a proper meal everyday, and so proper medicine is often off the table.

"I could make a trade at the apothecary," Gale suggests, his fists whitening over his hold on the bag. "I could trade the deer at the butchers, and get the money for a pill or two." Even as he says it, it's clear that Gale doubts that the trade will buy him much.

Hazelle's stare focuses on the game in his bag, paling at the thought of bargaining for medication, for her son's health. "Y-yes, I believe I have a few coins saved up. Let me just..." She reaches into a clay pot and pulls out a handful of coins. She offers them to Gale, but the dread was palpable in the room.

It isn't fair that Hazelle has to sacrifice all her earnings to buy a meager amount of medicine that will only _sustain_ Vick, not save him. And the Hawthornes have been so kind to me, these past years, and I couldn't think of any one who deserves their earnings more than Hazelle.

Before I have the chance to think it through, I enclose Hazelle's hand with my own, guarding her precious savings. "No, Hazelle, you _can't_." I lower her hand, and then launch into action. I march to Vick's side, and put a hand to his forehead, measuring his temperature.

 _It's burning hot_.

I replace his cool cloth, positioning it over his forehead, just as his eyes flutter open to meet mine. "Hey, Prim, how's it-" He brakes off into a bout of coughing, his coughs wracking through his entire body. Gale approaches the bed warily at first, gently moving the hair out of his brother's soft grey eyes, reminding me of how I did a similar motion to my mother. Perhaps my mother is like Vick in some ways. Perhaps my mother is just as sick.

Hazelle comes bustling forward with a bowl of warm soup, various herbs mashed together to form a slush-like substance, dark grey and lumpy. Vick's nose turns up at the sight, his nose crinkling in distaste. "Go on, eat it." Hazelle pleads, raising a spoon to Vick's resisting mouth. As I survey the scene, I do a quick head count.

"Where's Rory?" I ask, just as Gale's worried look gets replaced by a scowl. "He's probably off at the Hob, provoking more people into fights. It's all he ever does." I note the hard look in his eyes, and a drawn out sigh from Hazelle. She puts down the bowl with a _humph,_ saying _,_ "My boy is a fighter, that's for sure." I'm not sure whether she is referring to Rory or Vick because, at the moment, Vick is frantically dodging the spoon of mush that comes his way.

As Hazelle's face gets more flushed from the exertion of feeding her son, and Vick gets more green at the sight of the soup, I decide to step in. "Hazelle, my mother kept plenty of stores of herbs that we could use for the soup, and I could go foraging in the woods for a few more, if you'd like." Hazelle seems unsure about this prospect, glancing down at her homemade concoction. However, Vick's eyes light up, and they meet mine with a silent plea.

Hazelle purses her lips, contemplating whether she should let me help. "I'll go with her. Into the woods, I mean," Gale says, his eyes full of sympathy, his mouth pulling into a grimace. Hazelle lowers her stare, as though conceding to the inevitable. "Ye-yes, I do think that'll be the best option. Thank you, Prim, but you really must hurry. What with the Reapings being tomorrow, and all the new Peacekeepers roaming around the Square." Her eyes suddenly jolt up to mine, tears forming at the corners. "Oh, Prim, please be _careful_. I wouldn't want them to know about you, and the woods..." Her gaze wanders over to Gale, and I know she's thinking about how he hunts there every Sunday, keeping their family alive and fed. How he could get caught and executed. How she could lose him forever.

"I will, mom." He starts out the door, me in tow. "I'll be back soon." We head out the door together, my hands empty, his hands full, carrying the game bag. We head first to the butcher's to trade for the deer. The butcher swings open the door a crack, taking in our determined faces, and the slightly open bag, which reveals a small deer. She grunts in reply, disappears into the shop, and returns with a small bag of coins. There is never any arguing with the butcher when she sets a deal. I've noticed how on all my trips to the butcher with Gale over these past years, there's never any talking required. You drop off the stuff, she pays you decently for it. We're in, and then we're out.

Next, I decide that we should head to the woods fast, as the sky seems to be manifesting darkness at a frightening rate. We cautiously take off at a run towards the fence near my house, keeping an eye out for stray Peacekeepers. Coming across one in this part of the Seam is _rare_ , but then again, I had a close call with Cray just a short time ago. We reach the fence at sunset, and then the search for herbs start.

"Okay, so the herbs have a particular shape and colour about them. No, not like those. More lighter. Ooh, and we should get some berries, too. I know where we can find really sweet ones...those should do the trick." We scour the woods, brushing every bush and vine. I actually start to enjoy the search, despite how being in the woods almost always puts me on edge. The silence lets me focus and remember, spotting and picking the right plants and berries faster and more efficiently. It's just something I enjoy doing, being able to heal and help others. I guess it's something I picked up from my mother's genes, but you'd never be able to tell that from the way she expertly sleeps in all day. But it's not her fault, just as it's not my fault that I enjoy the act of being able to tend to the sick or injured. _You're a natural_ , Gale would say, when we would scour in the woods for herbs in times like these. It's just something that lulls me in, that makes me feel like I can excel in _something_.

 _Snap._ The rustle of leaves and the snapping of twigs bring me back to the present, making me more aware of my surroundings than ever. I straighten up from my previous position, which was bending over a bush to pick its berries, and rely on my ears to tell me more. _Look behind you_ , it whispers, and I whip around, eyes searching the rough terrain before me. Gale is off picking herbs, and he's nowhere to be seen. But he knows the woods better than me, and it's _so_ easy to get lost in these woods alone. Should I run back to the fence? Gale always told me to keep the fence in sight when he's not around, but it's too late for that. I've lost sight of the fence in my wandering to get berries, and now I'm lost. With no idea which direction I could run in to get _away_ from my predator.

Another _snap_ brings me to my senses, and I study the sky for half a second. It's the sunset that orients me. The district is set due east, and the sun sets in the west. _Good. Now head away from the sun._ Itake off at a run, in what I'm sure is the direction of the fence. It shouldn't be too far. I can almost _see_ it- 

_"Prim,"_ a familiar voice exclaims. I halt for a moment, glancing over at my companion. Or _companions_. "Rory, what are you doing here?" I say to him, while eyeing his two accomplices. One has bulging muscles, no doubt from working in the mines, and the other only comes to my chin in height. Both are from the Seam, by the looks of them, and they're both new to the woods, by the looks of their faces. Wandering eyes lit with ecstasy, mouths agape in wonder and mischief. "What are you up to?"

His friends chuckle, and Rory extends his arms, as though to display his friends. "Thought it'd be funny to pull one over the Peacekeepers. Or _two,_ " he says, acknowledging that there are _two_ friends of his with him. "It's just kind of funny, how there are such strict rules against entering the woods, when they let me and my friends just stroll on by." My face flushes with anger; anger over his incompetence, and anger over his disillusioned accomplishment fills my mind.

"How could you do that? How could you bring these two in here, when you know that times are tough as it is? You _do_ know that it's the evening before the Reaping right?" I spit out these words at him, amazed how he hasn't gotten caught already. "You know Gale won't like this. Rory, _I_ don't like this!" I'm literally shaking with anger and disappointment, thinking about how we'll all get caught by Peacekeepers way less lenient than Cray, and how both our families will be starving. All because he decided to challenge his friends to some sick game of dare...

"You don't have to _like_ it, Prim. You just do it. I mean, do you think they like starving? No. I'm just doing this to show some faithful buddies over here how to _survive_. And look at this." He gestures all around him. "We've made it." The air is so palpable around me, I can almost hear it. I can hear the silence hanging off of his last words, and the silence filled with the astounding lack of birds chirping. The eerie silence that proceeds something bad.

"What's happenin-" His friend is cut off, when a hovercraft appears out of nowhere in the sky, approaching us at an alarming rate. Suddenly, arms are grabbing me away into the tangle of trees, pushing me away from the immediate danger with a Capitol seal on it. An arm snakes around my shoulders, pressing me deeper into the shade. Suddenly, I can't see anything, and all I feel is the rough brush of a branch, and the bated breaths of my companions.

The hovercraft is gone in a flash, leaving the sky clear, and the air teeming with sounds of birds and insects alike. "What was that?" I exclaim, stepping out of the tangle of trees and onto a discernible pathway. The light is fading from the sky fast, almost as if being leeched away.

"I don't know, but we better leave fast, if we want to make it to the Reaping alive." Rory's two friends start jogging out of the forest, back to the part of the fence nearest my house. Rory hangs back, staring at me through the encroaching darkness. "Aren't you coming?" His words hang in between us, sounding pained. His eyes search the sky, as if another hovercraft would appear.

"C'mon, Prim. We've got to hurry." I shake my head, planting my feet to the ground. Something could've hurt Gale. Or maybe the hovercraft spotted him, and captured him. He might have lost his weapon, or gotten hurt by some wild animal. I highly doubt that Gale would be anything but prepared in the woods, but we've never been out so late. The possibilities are endless.

"Not without Gale," I quietly mumble, staring at my feet sheepishly, and tightening my grasp on the cluster of berries I managed to salvage. I hold my ground, staring like that for a while, until I hear the whisper, almost as quiet as the wind.

"Then I'll wait with him."

And so, Rory marches to my side, and we stand there, waiting for Gale.


End file.
